I sat there numbly, in absolute disbelief, I had expected a lot of things, made a lot of routes this year will take me but this wasn't one.
I was aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at me but I couldn't move if someone had bothered they would realise that this is the first time since, year one I had not calculated something, since I have not thought about something, since I had not calculated about the probable possibilities. I thought about every step I take but this? This was absolutely absurd, and I for a moment was sure that I was having a nightmare.
I noticed finally coming to my senses after a few minutes that there was no applause, no cheers, nothing.
Which was expected, as it was unheard of, 4 champions in a Triwizard Tournament.
A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at me as I sat, frozen, in my seat.
Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frowning slightly.
I turned to Ron and Hermione; beyond them, I saw the long Gryffindor table all watching her, open mouthed.
"I didn't put my name in," I said, for a moment forgetting who I was talking to, forgetting they were not my real friends instead traitors who have been paid to just be with me, desperate for someone to believe me filled my body and I swallowed drily.
I just wanted someone to believe in me but I saw both of them stared just as blankly back.
At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.
"Lyra Potter!" he called again. "Lyra! Up here, if you please!"
"Go on," Hermione whispered, giving me a slight push.
The buzzing grew louder and louder.
After what seemed like an hour of walking, I was right in front of Dumbledore, feeling the stares of all the teachers upon me, judging me harshly pinning me with looks.
"Well . . . through the door, Lyra," said Dumbledore. He wasn't smiling genially as he did every time, and that made me stop for a second, why the hell isn't he smiling? Shouldn't everyone? Lyra Potter the bloody girl-who-wouldn't-die is doing just another stupid thing. He should be smiling, laughing, after all his beloved weapon will get more stronger now!
Or maybe dead.
Dark thoughts jumbled into my brain attacking me and I walked along the table desperately trying to make my shield more stronger than I ever have to just cover the voice whispering dark things into my ears, the same voice that has been corrupting me since, a young age.
And finally... finally when it stopped my eyes became cold. . .my forest green eyes which had touches of Hazel had sharpened and my mind was blank. I had reinforced my occlumency shields more powerful than I had ever did. They were blocking off my emotions now. Even though tendrils were escaping, it was keeping my hysteria at bay thankfully.
The faces in the portraits turned to look at me as I entered, whispering to each other.
Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched-up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two.
Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire.
Fleur Delacour looked around when Lyra walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair and turned her chin up in a haughty manner.
"What is it?" she said. "Do zey want us back in ze Hall?"
I didn't bother her with an answer as I closed my eyes feeling my shield for a second and was startled when I saw how tightly I had grounded it, but I didn't loosen it knowing I had to work my way from this situation quickly and emotions is nothing but weakness.
Ludo Bagman entered the room.
He took me by the arm and led me forward.
"Extraordinary!" he muttered, squeezing my arm and I had to bite back a snarky remark which was on the tip of tongue knowing that will get me no where in this horrible situation.
"Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen . . . lady," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three.
"May I introduce — incredible though it may seem — the fourth Triwizard champion?"
Viktor Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed me challengingly.
Cedric looked nonplussed. He looked from Bagman to Harry and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, "Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman."
"Joke?" Bagman repeated, bewildered. "No, no, not at all! Lyra's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"
Krum's thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered. Fleur frowned.
"But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said contemptuously to Bagman. " 'E cannot compete. 'E is too young."
"Well . . . it is amazing," said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Lyra.
" But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as her name's come out of the goblet . . . I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage. . . . It's down in the rules, you're obliged . . . Lyra will just have to do the best she —"
Surely there is something that could help me, something to get me out of this situation, I thought naively.
The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape.
"Madame Maxime!" said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. "Zey are saying zat zis little girl is to compete also!"
Somewhere under my cold disbelief I felt a ripple of anger. Little girl? This little girl can crush you, you bitch!
Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height.
The top of her handsome head brushed the candle filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled.
"What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?" she said imperiously.
"I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore," said Professor Karkaroff. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice.
"Two Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions — or have I not read the rules carefully enough?" He gave a short and nasty laugh.
"C'est impossible," said Madame Maxime, whose enormous hand with its many superb opals was resting upon Fleur's shoulder. " 'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most injust."
"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," said Karkaroff, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. "Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."
"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. "Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. She has been crossing lines ever since she arrived here —"
"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair.
I finally interfered, " there must be a section or clause or something that stops students below age 17 from competing because I don't want to nor will I ever put my name in a Goblet of Fire for being in a tournament that can result in my death!" I exclaimed asking, pleading internally for some sort of saving grace, just this once.
Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at me, Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows.
"Mr. Crouch . . . Mr. Bagman," said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more completely ignoring my words, "you are our objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?"
Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance.
When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice.
"We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament. And since, the contract was made this year, there is no section saying otherwise."
"Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front," said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed.
"I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," said Karkaroff.
"You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore."
"But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that," said Bagman. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out — it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!" exploded Karkaroff.
"After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!"
"Empty threat, Karkaroff," growled a voice from near the door. "You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?"
Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk.
"Convenient?" said Karkaroff. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody."
Despite the situation I could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists nervously, a common habit and give away of anxiety or fear.
"Don't you?" said Moody quietly. "It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter's name in that goblet knowing she'd have to compete if it came out."
"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!" said Madame Maxime.
"I quite agree, Madame Maxime," said Karkaroff, bowing to her. "I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards —"
"If anyone's got reason to complain, it's Potter," growled Moody, "but . . . funny thing . . . I don't hear anyone letting her say a word. . ."
"Why should 'e complain?" burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot. "'E 'as ze chance to compete, 'asn't 'e? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money — zis is a chance many would die for!"
"Why would I want to die for 1000 galleons? Money is not more worth than my bloody life!" I said angrily to immature Heiress Delacour who is acting less like a Heiress more like a petulant child not getting what she wants. But I was once more ignored.
"Maybe someone's hoping Potter is going to die for it," said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl.
An extremely tense silence followed these words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, "Moody, old man . . . what a thing to say!"
"We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime," said Karkaroff loudly. "Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons."
"Imagining things, am I?" growled Moody. "Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy's name in that goblet. . . ."
"Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?" said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.
"Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!" said Moody. "It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament. . . . I'm guessing they submitted Potter's name under a fourth school, to make sure she was the only one in her category. . . ."
"You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody," said Karkaroff coldly, "and a very ingenious theory it is — though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously. . . ."
"There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage," Moody retorted in a menacing voice. "It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff — as you ought to remember. . . ."
Ooh snap!
"Alastor!" said Dumbledore warningly.
Karkaroff's face was burning.
"How this situation arose, we do not know," said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. "It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . ."
"Ah, but Dumbly-dorr —"
"My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it."
Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn't the only one either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid; Bagman, however, looked rather excited.
"Well, shall we crack on, then?" he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honors?"
Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie.
"Yes," he said, "instructions. Yes . . . the first task . . ."
He moved forward into the firelight. Close up, I briefly thought he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that had not been there at the Quidditch World Cup.
"The first task is designed to test your daring," he told tCedric, Fleur,Viktor and me , "so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard . . . very important. . . ."
"The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges."
"The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."
Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore.
"I think that's all, is it, Albus?"
"I think so," said Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern in his blue eyes, but I think only I knew that the concern in his eyes were fake. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?"
"No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry," said Mr. Crouch. "It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment. . . . I've left young Weatherby in charge. . . . Very enthusiastic . . . a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told. . . ."
"You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?" said Dumbledore.
"Come on, Barty, I'm staying!" said Bagman brightly. "It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!"
"I think not, Ludo," said Crouch with a touch of his old impatience.
"Professor Karkaroff — Madame Maxime — a nightcap?" said Dumbledore.
But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur's shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. I could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall.
Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence.
"Lyra, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed," said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them. "I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise."
Yes, they should bloody celebrate!
I glanced at Cedric for a second, who nodded, and they left together.
The Great Hall was deserted now; the candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality.
"So," said Cedric, with a slight smile. "We're playing against each other again!"
"I s'pose," I said dully. I really couldn't think of anything to say. The inside of my head seemed to be in complete disarray, as though my brain had been ransacked.
"So . . . tell me . . ." said Cedric as they reached the entrance hall, which was now lit only by torches in the absence of the Goblet of Fire. "How did you get your name in?"
"I didn't," I said coldly, staring up at him, now knowing the reason the golden boy of Hufflepuff was conversing with me. "I didn't put it in. I was telling the truth." I continued however trying to see if I could convince him.
"Ah . . . okay," said Cedric. I could tell Cedric didn't believe him. "Well . . . see you, then."
Instead of going up the marble staircase, Cedric headed for a door to its right. I stood listening to him going down the stone steps beyond it, then, slowly, I turned back around not ready for going to the Gryffindor tower and lowered my shields and rushed to my secret aclove hurriedly, casting a Disillusionment Charm hastily and an orb of light floated above me. As my eyes came in contact with a mirror, and just looking at the green eyes my eyes filled with tears.
And I tried to grip the wooden barrister to keep myself from falling down on the ground as sob rocked through my body.
Before I knew it, my body slid down on the ground as tears escaped my eyes, and sobs racked my frame.
Every time, every time, just is it me that the universe could play this sick joke with? Is there no one else? My whole life is a mess. It is a total mess and I am surprised at myself that I hadn't off myself just yet, I mean who wouldn't?
I handle the abuse, the fame, the orphan title, the bloody girl-who-lived title, I didn't have any bloody friends I didn't have anyone who would just care an ounce if I were to drop dead one day, I mean I am so pathetic and damaged and yet I am playing at the chance of freedom when I know that I am nothing but a coward whose parents died for her.
I didn't have anything, yet I hoped, I so naively hoped for a better future. When I don't even have anything to live for.
Bile rose through my throat and I had to clamp a hand on my mouth to stop it as I cried pathetically, for the loss of my parents, for the loss of my family, for the loss of my childhood and the loss of myself.
I cried and cried until my eyes were red and itchy and I was the perfect image of a broken little girl.
"Fuck. . . fuck" I whispered to myself harshly wiping my tear stains as I finally found some strength in my legs to get up while not buckling and opened my eyes and stood up and just like every time I have done before several of times removed any traces of my pathetic session of crying and made myself the same detached girl who the World gets to see.
I made my uniform the same as earlier and made myself confident and secure once more. Or at least portrayed I was.
And walked out of the aclove and walked up the marble stairs.
"Well, well, well," said the Fat Lady, the portrait guarding Gryffindor Dorms was called Fat Lady, "Violet's just told me everything. Who's just been chosen as school champion, then?"
"Balderdash," I said dully not really having energy left in me and she swung forward on her hinges to let me into the common room.
The blast of noise that met my ears when the portrait opened almost knocked me backward.
Next thing I, I was being patted on the back as I walked inside the common room by about a dozen pairs of hands, and was facing the whole of Gryffindor House, all of whom were screaming, applauding, and whistling.
"You should've told us you'd entered!" bellowed Fred; he looked half annoyed, half deeply impressed.
"How did you do it without getting a beard? Brilliant!" roared George.
"I didn't," I said instinctively. "I don't know how —"
But Angelina had now swooped down upon him; "Oh if it couldn't be me, at least it's a Gryffindor —"
"You'll be able to pay back Diggory for that last Quidditch match, Lyra!" shrieked Katie Bell, another of the Gryffindor Chasers.
"We've got food, come and have some —"
"I'm not hungry, I had enough at the feast —"
But nobody wanted to hear that I wasn't hungry; nobody wanted to hear that I hadn't put my name in the goblet; not one single person seemed to have noticed that I wasn't at all in the mood to celebrate.
Lee Jordan had unearthed a Gryffindor banner from somewhere, and he insisted on draping it around me like a cloak.
I couldn't get away; whenever she tried to sidle over to the staircase up to the dormitories, the crowd around me closed ranks, forcing another butterbeer on me, stuffing crisps and peanuts into my hands. . . .
Everyone wanted to know how he had done it, how I had tricked Dumbledore's Age Line and managed to get my name into the goblet. . . .
I had half the mind to cast a sonorous and just shut them up!
To shout on the top of lungs, that I am not some attention seeking bitch!
To shout that they shouldn't be like this! That this behaviour is wrong!
"I'm tired!" I bellowed finally, after nearly half an hour. "No, seriously, George — I'm going to bed —"
I finally managed to slip past everyone and was faced with Ronald and Hermione, who looked down at me from the top stair they were at.
"How did you manage to do it, Lyra?" Ronald asked his tone jealous filled as he looked at me while Hermione looked at me in disgust.
I took a deep breath and said, " I didn't, you have to believe me!"
Ronald smiled at me creepily, and said, " How did you cross the age-line? The cloak?"
I forced my face to not scowl at him and said, " I said I didn't Ron!"
"I know your tendency to break rules, you should know better!" Hermione snapped at me angrily as she looked down at me as if I was dirt beneath her shoes making my eyes twitch in fury.
"I don't know what has gotten in your bloody minds! But I didn't!" I finally snapped at them angrily scowling at them as I glared at them, I saw them cower slightly under my furious gaze before they straightened themselves up in an attempt of confidence.
"Of course not, you could have at least told us, you are doing that!" Ron said, the bloody jealous git!
I breathed in deeply trying to control my anger at there ignorant little being and said coldly, " I bloody didn't!"
"Huh, then why would some one else would?" Hermione asked and I saw Ronald nodding his head agreeing with the other girl.
"I don't know! To bloody kill me!" I said impulsively adding the other part and bit my tongue angry at myself for giving away my doubts so easily but didn't show any outer surprise but kept my face desperate and angry.
Hermione and Ronald hummed at me in unison, they were clearly not believing me and walked away as I gritted my teeth in anger. Knowing that most probably no one will believe me I stayed up in my bed, making up the plans and how I should go about now, as my sleeps were plagued by Voldemort and his pet rat.
One more night went to planning and plotting instead of sleeping like a typical teenager. Sometimes when I looked across the room and saw Hermione sleeping peacefully I was filled with jealousy, she, the selfish traitor got to sleep peacefully but I don't? How in the bloody hell is that fair?
Sleep didn't find me all night, yet when the sun began to rise, covering the sky with a beautiful hue of violet and red, my eyes dropped.